


you and me, trampoline

by ohvictor



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emetophobia, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, implied eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 00:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohvictor/pseuds/ohvictor
Summary: It's an incoming call, and the number isn't in his contacts, but Makoto doesn't think he could forget Izumi’s number if he tried (not that he hasn't tried). His heart does another frantic flip in his chest, and his mind is blank and racing all at once - when was the last time he spoke to Izumi, what could he want, did Makoto do something, whynowat 1:30 in the morning?





	you and me, trampoline

**Author's Note:**

> set somewhere later in the in-game year, when these two have begun to heal and communicate. please mind the warnings, and please especially remember this is a mostly canon-compliant izumi + makoto fic, and as such may be upsetting/triggering due to the nature of their relationship. to avoid the emet bit: stop reading at _“I can’t, I can’t,” Izumi sobs_ and begin again at _“It’s okay,” Makoto says automatically_ (just a few lines). the eating disorder implication is very brief and vague, but i wanted to warn just in case. 
> 
> thank you to [aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappyrefrain) for betaing this for me! title is from fly boy blue by elbow.

The digital clock on Makoto’s nightstand reads a reproachful 1:30. It's getting late enough that he's wondering if he shouldn't just stay up all night and show up to school with dark circles under his eyes. It feels cathartic doing things like that, like a reminder to himself that his body belongs only to him now - if only for the sake of fucking it up.

He stares down at the game controller in his hands, shifting his fingers minutely on the buttons. The “New Game?” screen on his TV is too static to focus on, so he throws his weight to one side and scrabbles his fingers on his nightstand until his fingertips reach his phone, and pulls it towards himself.

There's no notifications - another reminder that he's up too late (and not, he reminds himself firmly, an indicator that he doesn't have any friends) - but he unlocks the screen anyway and opens LINE, scrolling through the Trickstar groupchat to put a smile on his face.

Suddenly, the phone vibrates in his hand. Makoto almost drops it in surprise, but his reflexes (honed by years of gaming) outclass his anxiety and his fingers close tight around his phone.

It's an incoming call, and the number isn't in his contacts, but Makoto doesn't think he could forget Izumi’s number if he tried (not that he hasn't tried). His heart does another frantic flip in his chest, and his mind is blank and racing all at once - when was the last time he spoke to Izumi, what could he want, did Makoto do something, why _now_ at 1:30 in the morning--

His fingers lock up as the phone keeps buzzing under them. If he doesn't pick up, Izumi might call again, or worse, maybe he'll show up at Makoto’s house, or-- or something. Makoto takes a deep breath. They'd been doing better, and Izumi had been calm and almost _not scary_ the past few times they'd spoken - but what if all that got undone somehow? What if Makoto messed something up, somehow, like he always manages to do?

He shouldn't pick up. He could lie if Izumi asks tomorrow, say he was asleep then, maybe, if he puts concealer under his eyes to hide the dark bags, but... If Izumi is trying to be better, then Makoto has to as well, right? No lying, and no hiding, and if it means picking up a call at 1:30 in the morning, well... If it goes badly, he can just hang up and turn his phone off, right?

Makoto realizes suddenly that his phone is quiet. He's taken so long to decide what to do that the call has dropped, and now he's got a notification to taunt him: “1 Missed Call”.

Staring at his phone, Makoto hits “Call Back” before he can think himself out of it.

He holds the phone to his ear carefully, like a hot object that might burn him if pressed too close. Izumi’s phone rings once, twice, and Makoto’s pulse climbs steadily.

Then Izumi answers, or rather, accepts the call, because all Makoto hears for a few seconds is running water.

“Izumi-san?” he says, pressing the receiver closer to his mouth so he doesn't have to speak loudly. He'd been playing video games at a fairly selfish volume given the hour, but his own voice feels too big for the dark, quiet void of his bedroom.

The water sound shuts off, and now Makoto can hear what sounds like-- Choking?

“Izumi-san,” he says again, urgent.

“Yuu-kun,” Izumi says, and his voice is far away from the receiver, distant enough that it's barely audible, although Makoto can still make out his name. Izumi’s voice is too distorted by the phone for Makoto to get a clue about what's going on, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out something's _wrong_ , something Makoto doesn't know if he can fix over the phone or if he even wants to be here for.

“Yuu-kun,” Izumi says again. Makoto hears shuffling and then Izumi’s voice is much closer. “Yuu-kun, it's so late, you should be asleep.”

Makoto frowns. _He_ wasn't the one who called first, but is it okay to say that? “I was just going to bed,” he says, a harmless lie.

“I’m sorry,” Izumi says, and there's the weird choking noise again, but now that Izumi’s close enough to his phone, Makoto realizes he's _crying_. The knowledge feels like a weight dropped into his stomach. “Sorry, I bet I woke you up and y-you're not telling me, right? I fucked it up again, didn't I? I-I’m sorry,” he gasps, “shit, oh, god,” and then the line goes dead.

Makoto’s whole body is numb, and he lowers the phone slowly back to his lap. None of it makes sense, and every fiber of him is shying away from this crying, erratic Izumi, with a caution he's been forced to learn over the past years.

He thought they were past this. He thought Izumi was backing off, that he was happy with Knights and with Tsukinaga, that the mess between them was healing. That Izumi was going to be better, that Makoto didn't have to be afraid anymore.

He realizes, belatedly, that he's angry. Not afraid, but angry, because he _really_ thought things were getting better, because Izumi’s still a mystery and a whirlwind who does what he wants, calling Makoto in the middle of the night just to be _weird_ and then hang up on him, making Makoto worry when, god, Makoto deserves to never have to worry about Izumi ever again.

As if things with Izumi were ever that simple.

But the fact remains that Izumi might be in danger, and Makoto might be the only one who knows about it, and if Izumi does something stupid tonight it’ll be Makoto’s fault, or at least it’ll feel like it. So he opens LINE again and sends a message to Izumi: _Whats going on?_

Almost immediately, LINE shows Izumi’s opened the message, and two seconds later, he replies: _sorry_

It's not an explanation. Makoto groans and tosses his phone aside, rubs his hands over his face, and then feels guilty for tossing his phone aside, and reaches for it again.

Izumi’s still typing, and as Makoto squints at his screen, more messages appear.

_sory yuukun i shouldnt have called you_

_i really wantd to hear your voice_

_m sorry for hang up_

_i didnt want you to hear_

Makoto frowns, and types: _Hear what?_

_m sick and bad_

The little typing icon disappears, but Makoto still doesn't understand. ‘Sick’ how? More importantly, is Izumi safe?

Even more importantly, why is this happening at - god, now nearly two in the morning, when Makoto really ought to be getting to bed?

It’s stupid, he thinks, even though his anger is quickly draining away. All of this is stupid.

He hovers over the “Call” button and then, when he can't think of a good enough reason not to, he presses it.

This time, Izumi picks up on the second ring, and Makoto can hear him breathing quickly on the other end. His breaths are shallow, and as Makoto waits for him to speak, he hears Izumi hiccup.

“You didn't need to call again,” Izumi says. His voice is raw enough that Makoto can hear it over the phone and he remembers, with the force of a flashback, Izumi emerging from the bathroom at the end of a lunch break and greeting him in that ripped up voice, so many times Makoto nearly stopped feeling sick to his stomach at what it meant.

“Are you safe?” Makoto asks.

“What?” Izumi’s voice gets further from the phone again, and Makoto hears him cough quietly. “Yeah, of course. Did I worry you? You don't need to worry about me, you know that, right, Yuu-kun?”

“Yeah,” Makoto agrees, not meaning it. “Where are you?”

“Home,” Izumi says. There's more shuffling, as if he's moving around. “In my bathroom. Why, are you thinking about me? I could put on a show, if you--”

“Obviously, since I’m talking to you.” Makoto sighs. He's trying to ignore the way his pulse jumps in reaction to Izumi’s hoarse voice and the memory of his manic pacing, and instead he's focusing on remembering the sheet of tips Sagami gave him for how to calm down from a panic attack. It's in his school bag downstairs, but he's read over it so many times he thinks he knows it by heart now, the step-by-step guide a mantra for whenever he feels himself spinning out of control.

“Can you sit down somewhere?” he asks Izumi.

“Uh,” Izumi says. He clears his throat. “Why do you need me to sit?”

“It’ll make me feel better.”

“I’m fine,” Izumi says. Makoto can hear him still moving around, the phone catching soft thumps and the shallow rasp of his breathing. In the distance, Makoto hears Izumi’s toilet flush, and Izumi mumbling to himself, too quiet for Makoto to make out the words.

“I’m sitting,” Izumi says after a moment.

“Okay,” Makoto says, relieved. He shifts himself on his bed, scooting back against his pillows and curling into a more comfortable position. “Can you breathe?”

“Kind of,” Izumi says, and he sniffs loudly. “My nose is totally plugged. That’s so gross, sorry, I mean, you asked--”

“That’s okay,” Makoto says, cutting Izumi off. He closes his eyes, and envisions himself as a cooler, less ruffled version of himself, like smushing the part of him that learned from Izumi and still values him as a friend and role model together with the part of him that can guide Izumi through this and not feel resentful or afraid. “Can you blow it?”

“Not with Yuu-kun listening, that’s so gross! What does it matter if I--”

Makoto rolls his eyes. “Then put the phone on mute for a second or something, jeez.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Izumi repeats. “Why did you call me back? Haven’t I already fucked up enough for one night?”

“Izumi-san--”

“You’re just letting me do more things I’ll regret,” Izumi says, and he chokes, like he’s holding back a sob. “All I-I do is hurt you, and you just let me, even though I’m like _this_ , I’m so bad and gross and--”

“Izumi, please-- _please_ ,” Makoto urges, and it’s a cheap trick and for a second he _aches_ with guilt, but at least it makes Izumi stop talking. Through the phone, he hears Izumi take a deep breath.

“Don’t say that,” Izumi mumbles after a moment. He clears his throat. “What do you want, Yuu-kun?”

Makoto wonders that himself. “For you to be safe,” he says, which he thinks is the truth.

“I _am_ safe,” Izumi says. “I’m always safe. I told you then, didn’t I, I’m not going to do anything stupid anymore.” He pauses. “Well, not _that_ stupid.”

In Makoto’s experience, Izumi’s definition of ‘safe’ varies significantly from what Makoto considers the general definition of ‘safe’, but he doesn’t say any of that. “You’re still sitting, right? Are you still, um...” He wants so badly to spare Izumi’s pride. “Are you still crying?”

“Do I sound like I’m crying?” Izumi snaps.

Makoto expected that, so he’s ready. “Not now, no. You sound upset, though.” He’s veering off the sheet, he thinks, and into territory he doesn’t have a map for. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Izumi sniffs again. “No, god, it’s none of your business.”

“You’re the one who called me,” Makoto says. “That makes it my business.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Izumi offers. Makoto imagines Izumi’s jaw working as he fumbles for a plausible excuse.

“Isn’t it easier if you don’t have to see me? You can just close your eyes and pretend you’re talking to yourself,” he offers. It’s something Mao had told him to do once, when he couldn’t get the words about why he had to leave in the middle of a photoshoot.

“This is stupid,” Izumi says.

Makoto waits.

“Fine,” Izumi bursts out. “Fine, I’m closing my eyes, okay?”

Makoto doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know why I should tell you,” Izumi says after a moment, and his voice is quieter, “even if I woke you up and now you’re all worried or whatever. You worry too much, Yuu-kun, that’s your problem. You’re going to get wrinkles.”

Izumi’s been saying things like that for years. Makoto blinks up at the ceiling of his room, and waits.

“I’m totally fine,” Izumi says. “So what if I was crying or if I couldn’t breathe? So what if I got sick? I get sick all the time, okay? I know what my body can handle, and that’s not your problem anymore! I’m fine!”

He stops, and Makoto hears him hiccup, and then a muffled sob.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Izumi repeats, and it’s like he’s pleading, his voice trembling with sobs he’s trying to force back down. “I’m fine, I’m always fine,” and then, his voice rising, “god, fuck, Yuu-kun, Yuu-kun, I shouldn’t have called you, I fucked up, I fucked up--”

“Izumi-san, I’m right here,” Makoto says, and it’s easy to keep his voice steady. It’s easy to detach himself now, easy to watch Izumi cry and babble, easy to shut off all empathy and become a shell of himself for this. “Just try to breathe for me, okay?”

“I can’t, I can’t,” Izumi sobs, his voice breaking over the words. “I can’t, I’m so fucked up, Yuu-kun, I’m sorry--” He stops, and then stammers, “I-I’m going to throw up again, Yuu-kun, d-don’t listen, don’t listen--”

Makoto pulls the phone away from his ear, and tries to ignore the distant sound of Izumi retching. It’s not like he’s never heard it before, but his stomach turns uncomfortably anyway. Izumi finishes quickly, though, and Makoto hears him flush the toilet.

“Sorry,” Izumi says into the phone, “sorry, I hope you didn’t hear that.” He takes a long, shaky breath. “I-I don’t even have anything left to throw up, but it keeps happening, Yuu-kun, I can’t stop, and I can’t breathe...”

“It’s okay,” Makoto says automatically. He remembers the sheet of tips, and the goal he’s strayed from. “Hey, if I count, will you try and breathe in time? It’s kind of cliche, but...”

“Yeah,” Izumi agrees quickly. “If it’s Yuu-kun’s voice, I’ll try it.”

“Okay,” Makoto says. He clears his throat. “I’ll count off for you, and just do your best, okay? Inhale for me, one, two, three...”

He counts, and he listens to Izumi’s breathing over the phone. He pictures Izumi sitting - on the bathroom floor, or maybe on the toilet - with his free hand balled into a fist in his lap and his teeth grinding together as he forces himself to breathe slower. Makoto’s trying so hard to not feel anything right now but he can’t help but feel the empathy that comes with shared experience, remembering all the times he’s been so terrified he couldn’t breathe, clenching his hands into fists so he could dig his nails deep into his palms without anyone noticing. Using the pain to ground himself as his heart hammered in his chest.

And then he’d gotten like that during practice one day and begun to hyperventilate, and Hokuto had walked him to the infirmary, and Sagami had said he was having panic attacks. And he gave Makoto the sheet of tips and told him it was pretty normal, that plenty of students at Yumenosaki had come to see him about panic attacks, “including your friend Sena-kun,” and Makoto had been so surprised he’d almost dropped the paper.

In a way, it makes Izumi seem more human. Or at least, it makes his confusing actions a little more understandable. If Izumi isn’t always in control, it makes him easier to forgive, like a real person who makes mistakes rather than a villain from a video game. Thinking about it gives Makoto hope that one day the two of them might be able to repair their relationship, that maybe Izumi isn’t as terrifying as he always seems.

He’s counting higher the way Sagami’s sheet taught him, pushing Izumi to inhale and exhale for longer. It’s gratifying to hear Izumi carefully breathing in time with Makoto’s counting, knowing that Izumi is trying hard for him. The first several times Makoto tried this, he failed miserably; he’d had to get Hokuto to count for him, then Mao, then Subaru, slowly revealing to his unitmates and to himself that sometimes he needs help. Subaru seemed to really like counting for Makoto, even making a little song out of the numbers that made Makoto laugh. Somehow, that helped calm him down as well, even if it broke his rhythm. Mao and Hokuto were more businesslike, counting carefully and watching Makoto as he struggled to follow along, and then gripping his hands once his breathing reached a normal rate and telling him they were glad he’d come to them for help.

The gratitude and love Makoto holds for Trickstar is one of the few things that gets him out of bed in the mornings. It’s one of the reasons he’s even able to face Izumi now, long enough to even think about fixing their relationship.

Makoto’s mouth is getting dry by the time he reaches seven beats of inhale and ten of exhale, and it’s a relief when Izumi says, “Okay, I’m breathing better, so you can stop.”

Makoto swallows and wets his lips.“Okay,” he says. “How do you feel?”

“Uh,” Izumi says. “Tired. Not as nauseous.” Makoto hears him fight back a yawn. “My whole body feels drained and gross. I need to shower or I’ll get my bed all dirty.”

“A shower would be good,” Makoto agrees.

“Too tired,” Izumi sighs. “I was already tired when I got home.”

Makoto remembers that he doesn’t know what pushed Izumi into the state he’d been in when he called. He’s curious, in the morbid way everyone is, but what if thinking about it makes Izumi panic again? “You could just rinse off, maybe,” Makoto offers. “Missing one night of skincare won’t matter a week from now.”

“Ugh, you’re right, but I’ll feel gross tomorrow,” Izumi sighs. He sounds calmer, enough that Makoto can feel himself relaxing, and he’s not fighting anything Makoto says, not any more than he usually does. “Maybe I’ll just pass out on the bathroom floor. Shit, but that would be bad for my back.”

Makoto tries not to imagine Izumi passed out on the bathroom floor. “You could go to bed and then change the sheets in the morning?”

“Ah! Yuu-kun’s so smart,” Izumi says. Makoto hears shuffling as Izumi moves around - probably leaving the bathroom and going to bed. He hears water running, then a door opening and padding footsteps, and he looks up at the ceiling again, waiting.

Bedsprings creak, and Izumi says, “Fuck, that’s better.”

“Are you in bed?”

“Yeah.” Izumi’s voice is muffled now, like he’s put his face into a pillow. “Yuu-kun. Sorry about this. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to do anything like that,” Makoto says. He pauses, thinking. “I’m glad Izumi-san called me instead of freaking out alone. I’m glad I could help.”

“You don’t deserve it, though,” Izumi protests tiredly.

“Yeah, but I was awake anyway.” Makoto laughs a little. “Playing video games.”

“Nerd,” Izumi says. He yawns. “Ugh. I’m sleepy and my mouth still tastes shitty.”

“You should go to sleep,” Makoto says.

“Yeah...”

They both fall silent for a moment. Makoto takes stock of his body and finds himself surprisingly calm, and now he’s actually tired, his body relaxing after hours of staring at a bright screen.

“Thanks,” Izumi mumbles, still muffled in a pillow.

Makoto doesn’t think he can remember the last time Izumi thanked him. Usually he just apologizes, or puts himself down, or tells Makoto he’s going to get wrinkles or he’s trying too hard or something. Earlier, he’d thought they were regressing, but it’s the opposite, isn’t it - Izumi had called Makoto because he needed something comforting, and he’d let Makoto calm him down with as much resistance as anyone would have during a panic attack. And then he’d thanked Makoto, which he’d never done before.

They’re getting better. They really are getting better. Makoto feels lighter, suddenly, and glad that Izumi called him, even if he’ll be tired tomorrow.

“You’re welcome,” he says, and he hopes Izumi can hear him smiling. “Get some rest, okay, and I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Izumi says, and he sounds exhausted. “See you tomorrow, Yuu-kun.”

He hangs up - _when was the last time Izumi hung up first?_ \- and Makoto lets his phone drop onto the duvet next to him, and exhales a long sigh.


End file.
